


The Incredible Shrinking Doctor

by nonelvis



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Light Bondage, Pegging, Shrinking, i'm sorry i'm so sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-28 09:27:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14446287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonelvis/pseuds/nonelvis
Summary: He’s not supposed to be half his size today. He’s not supposed to be half-sized any day, but things happen, you know, like quantum temporal-magnetic fluctuations in the Vortex, things the TARDIS is supposed to be able to compensate for any day, anytime, except possibly for the occasional random leap picosecond, and sure enough, today is that day.





	The Incredible Shrinking Doctor

**Author's Note:**

> I blame Nos for this. She knows what she did.

He’s not supposed to be half his size today. He’s not supposed to be half-sized any day, but things happen, you know, like quantum temporal-magnetic fluctuations in the Vortex, things the TARDIS is supposed to be able to compensate for any day, anytime, except possibly for the occasional random leap picosecond, and sure enough, today is that day. Which is inconvenient, because he and River have had this date planned for ages – or rather, she had it planned three weeks from now, and he’s only showing up when he’s supposed to – and he was expecting to be at 100% the correct size, as he almost always is. He was even planning for parts of him to be at something like 150% the correct size, and is that even possible now? Well, probably. He and River will just have to adjust. They always do.

She smiles charmingly at him and takes him to dinner anyway, makes sure he’s got enough cushions to bring him up to table level, somehow manages to resist undressing him from tuxedo bowtie on down before the appetizer arrives. It’s happened before. They were kicked out, but River arranged for the restaurant’s takeaway via some app. The scar from that scalding _beurre blanc_ is going to be on his chest until the next regeneration, but it was worth it.

“I rather like you like this,” she says when they get back to the TARDIS, slightly squiffy on the Champagne aperitif and the red wine afterwards and whatever that Altairian blue liquid was that had accompanied the cheese course. “Pocket-sized. Which reminds me.”

She’s kissing him roughly now, her lips that much larger than his, but they’re soft and sweet as always, and he does so love letting her take the lead. Tying the bowtie round his wrists, crossed behind his back, his chest bent over the TARDIS console, his arse bare where River can caress it with her lips, her hair, her fingertips.

“Pocket vibe,” she whispers in his ear. “Just the right size for you now.”

She slicks it up with her mouth. She’s holding him down, and he can’t see her doing it, but he can hear her tongue working its way round the buzzing tapered shape, and feel the cool shock as it slips down the crack of his arse into his butthole. It’s so big. _So_ big, because River’s pockets are like his pockets, which means her idea of a “pocket vibe” is a stretch he has to gasp and relax to accommodate, as much as he wants to suck in when he’s first penetrated.

“You’d never have noticed this otherwise,” she murmurs. “You should stay this size all the time. And I’ve got some ideas about how you can put that height to good use a bit later. Did I mention I’m not wearing any underwear?”

In. Out. In. A twist. Out. A hard shove in. A moan. The buzzing, the constant vibration against his prostate, and when River finally adds a curved thumb and forefinger around his cock, he nearly cries with relief. It’s a few short thrusts later before he comes, spurting on the placket of his trousers and collapsing, spent, as River leaves the vibe inside him to buzz for a few seconds longer.

She leans over him, her chest against his back, and he can feel the warmth of her body and the jut of her breasts even through the thick serge of the tuxedo jacket and the Oxford shirt. “You sure you want to let the TARDIS fix this?” she says as she unties his hands.

He takes a few breaths, rests with her against him, then rises to face her. “Eventually,” he says. “But I’ve got things to do first.”

He grasps her sequined skirt by the hem, slowly ruffles it to rise over her hips, and sets himself to work.


End file.
